When Liang Yan got back to his room and went to open his photo album to share his life, he only then discovered that in the handful of photos he’d taken, Qiao Qi and Wu Shuang had both ended up in frame.
And in a way that couldn’t be edited out, either.
—The hotel restaurant’s plates had been too glossy, catching their two blurry reflections.
Though it really wasn’t a big deal, he worried the girl might misunderstand.
After all, there’d already been that whole misunderstanding once before over a voice message Cheng Yueming had accidentally sent.
So in the end he just sighed and deleted the photos, then reported in to the other party.
Liang: Finished eating. Liang: Back in my room.
When Qiao Qi received this message, she too had been hesitating over whether to send her photo, because she’d noticed she’d held the camera too close while taking it, and the plate had been too shiny, catching her face in the shot as well.
Though not especially clear, one could vaguely make out the outline of her features. If the other party zoomed in deliberately, it wasn’t as if nothing could be seen at all.
Actually, given where their relationship stood, Qiao Qi wasn’t unwilling to actually show her face.
But she didn’t want her first appearance to be completely bare-faced like this.
Her hair hadn’t been styled either—a few strands that had fallen in front of her eyes while eating, which she’d casually tucked behind her ear.
Her whole face laid bare, plain and unadorned.
—No, that wouldn’t do.
After thinking it over for a long while, Qiao Qi decided not to send anything at all. She really had eaten, after all.
No guilt about it either.
Just then, right after she got back to her room, Li’ang sent a message. She’d meant to ask Li’ang why he hadn’t sent a photo either, but then thought—if she wasn’t sending one herself, what right did she have to ask him?
So she could only pretend nothing had happened and reply as normal.
7: I’m done eating too! 7: Back in my room too. Liangou: Very good. Liangou: Come on, let’s go to sleep together. 7: …… 7: There’s something I’m not sure I should say. Liangou: Then maybe don’t say it. 7: I won’t not say it. 7: I insist on saying it. Liangou: How old are you? Liangou: This rebellious? 7: Eighteen. 7: Forever eighteen. Liangou: Fine. Liangou: Then I can wait another two years. 7: …… 7: I really have to say this now. Liangou: Go ahead. 7: If you ever die, it’ll be from flirting yourself to death. Liangou: How I die isn’t important. Liangou: As long as I make it past twenty-five first. Liangou: Dying young would be such a waste. 7: Is your birthday coming up? Liangou: Mhm. 7: When is it? Liangou: Why? Liangou: Are you going to throw me a birthday party? 7: Not out of the question. 7: Even if not, the gift will definitely come through. Liangou: The big treasure?
Thinking of the “big treasure” she’d originally promised him, and then thinking back to Liang Yan announcing he had a girlfriend at breakfast just now, Qiao Qi’s mood lifted considerably. She narrowed her eyes and typed back.
7: Sure. 7: I’ll give you the big treasure. Liangou: Deal. Liangou: Then I’ll look forward to this birthday of mine.
Before bed, Qiao Qi pestered Li’ang until he told her his birthday clearly, then counted the days on the calendar—his birthday was in November on the solar calendar, still a ways off.
By then she’d have wrapped filming.
Since the timeline stretched out that long, she wasn’t in any rush—there’d surely be a signing event near the end of filming anyway.
At that point she wouldn’t even need to ask Liang Yan directly—she could just quietly save one signature for herself.
Absolutely perfect.
Satisfied, Qiao Qi went back to her room to sleep.
—
Life on the crew, when it came down to it, was really just a two-point routine. Liang Yan and the others had a few extra activities on the side—occasionally shooting commercials, doing interviews, and during holidays attending the odd televised gala.
But Qiao Qi had none of that; aside from two days spent shooting a small commercial on her way into the production, all her time was consumed by the crew.
Confined to this small world, her sense of time moved entirely to the rhythm of the show. It was only after several bouts of heavy rain had washed away Shanghai’s summer heat that Qiao Qi realized, in a daze, that the White Dew solar term had already passed.
It was on this same day that Misty Cloud Hall finally opened its official Weibo account, releasing its first wave of cast information.
@MistyCloudHallOfficialV: #TVDramaMistyCloudHall# Thank you all for waiting.
By rights, the show had already been in production for months and should have been announced long ago, but Cheng Yueming had kept a firm lid on the news, while outside scalpers and various so-called insiders leaked bits and pieces every day, teasing fans mercilessly.
Now that the official account had opened, the male lead Liang Yan’s fans quickly pushed the account’s follower count into five digits.
The comment section erupted in a chorus of wailing, everyone demanding the official account release the character stills.
The official account didn’t keep fans waiting long either—within a few minutes it announced Liang Yan and Qiao Qi.
@MistyCloudHallOfficialV: Living through troubled times, true to one’s own heart. Misty Cloud Hall’s Cheng Yanyun, Cheng Yanyun’s Young Master Ming. @QiaoQi @LiangYan
The character stills released had been shot right when production began. The first three photos were of Qiao Qi, three photos, three different looks.
The first: wearing a Western-style dress, face half-veiled in pink gauze, standing center stage under the spotlight, both hands gripping a microphone, eyes fixed intently on a single point.
This was Cheng Yanyun, the headline act of Baile Gate.
The second: wrapped in an elegant qipao, standing at an angle, a round fan held up to half-conceal her face.
This was Cheng Yanyun, proprietress of Misty Cloud Hall.
The third: stripped of all fine adornment, dressed simply, long hair tossed by the wind, one hand gripping a gun, the other braced at the wrist, valiant and heroic.
This was Cheng Yanyun, daughter of China.
On the strength of these three character stills alone, Qiao Qi trended that very day; marketing accounts churned out article after article, and her past years of photos and commercial work all got dug up and circulated.
Opinions were, naturally, mixed, but public sentiment overall leaned positive for now. Overnight, Qiao Qi’s Weibo follower count multiplied several times over.
From this point on, the entertainment industry finally knew the name Qiao Qi.
As for Liang Yan, he drew even more attention. His three character stills captured the character’s personality vividly—first, a covert operative’s short jacket, hands in his pockets, chin lifted slightly, a faint almost-smile at his lips, the aura of a spoiled young aristocrat unmistakable.
Next came the young master in a proper, formal Western suit, hair pulled back into a small topknot, gold-rimmed glasses perched on his exceptionally elegant nose bridge, his peach-blossom eyes lifted to reveal more than a hint of a scholarly-yet-scoundrel air.
Last was an outfit in a style matching Qiao Qi’s third look—a simple Chinese-style long robe, bruised scars visible at the corner of his mouth, but his eyes held no trace of a smile at all, filled instead entirely with resolve.
Each still felt utterly distinct from the others; fans, who’d been waiting with bated breath, finally got their hands on the official original images—photo editing ran rampant, video edits multiplied, and overnight countless pieces of fan fiction sprang up as well.
That evening during the crew’s rest period, Qiao Qi idly scrolled Weibo for a while, and as she scrolled, she felt she was hearing some rather discordant things in her ear.
“…Shanghai was so vast, yet there was nowhere for her to belong, and so amid pouring rain and biting wind, she dragged her exhausted body, step by step, toward that brightly lit mansion…”
“……?”
What on earth was this nonsense?
Qiao Qi quietly turned her head and saw Liang Yan, who’d apparently settled into the lounge chair beside her at some point, reading aloud from his phone.
Noticing her gaze, Liang Yan said, “Oh,” “Shh, our fan fiction.”
With that, he continued reading: “At last, she saw that man. She begged him to take her in. The man asked coldly, ‘What’s the payment?’ Qiao Qi bit her lip, her face deathly pale, and after a long moment finally said softly, ‘Me. Young Master Liang, the payment… is me.’ With that, the woman resolutely tore open her own clothes, the lights went out, and outside the rain grew heavier…”
Qiao Qi: “……Liang Yan.”
Liang Yan looked up. “Hm?”
Qiao Qi: “Are you not disgusted by this!”
Author’s Note: My head is killing me.
Posting half now.
Will finish the rest tomorrow.
20 red envelopes!!